


the start

by Prim_the_Amazing



Category: Campaign (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:28:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24881596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prim_the_Amazing/pseuds/Prim_the_Amazing
Summary: Travis shows up to the Uhuru. It’s not because Gable invited him. He lies and charms his way through the interview, claiming practical skills and a great working spirit that he doesn’t in any way possess. It’s not because Gable is on this ship. He gets onto the crew, and scans the deck for a pale white head of hair that towers over everyone else around. It’s not because he cares.-Before everything, four people stumble their way into a conspiracy of their own making.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 17





	the start

**Author's Note:**

  * For [schneefink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/schneefink/gifts).



Travis shows up to the Uhuru. It’s not because Gable invited him. He lies and charms his way through the interview, claiming practical skills and a great working spirit that he doesn’t in any way possess. It’s not because Gable is on this ship. He gets onto the crew, and scans the deck for a pale white head of hair that towers over everyone else around. It’s not because he cares. 

He makes sure to show that, by very deliberately turning his face away and not looking at or approaching them. Why should he? They’re not anything special. Besides, well, the immortality and all that. Which, _he’s_ immortal, so how special is it really? 

“What’re you smirking about?” a crewmember asks him, narrowing her eyes at him suspiciously. 

Instead of some slick reply, his hand comes up to his face immediately. And yes, there it is. He hadn’t noticed. 

It feels too broad to be a smirk. Too… thoughtless. Not meant for mocking or gloating. 

“A guy can’t enjoy a nice sunny day?” he asks blithely, a bit too late to come off as entirely natural. 

She glares at him. Thankfully, it seems that he’s more coming across as shifty and full of bullshit than caught off guard. Good. One is clearly better than the other. 

“Watch yourself,” she warns him. 

“Couldn’t rip my gaze away if I tried. Have you _seen_ me?” 

She spits at his feet and walks away. _Charming._ Clearly, he is surrounded by the cream of society here. 

“Pleasure to meet you as well!” he shouts after her. She flips him off as she goes. He hadn’t gotten her name. Oh, and he’s already forgetting her face as well… well, that’s what she gets for not having any distinctive facial scarring or tattoos. Or glamorously unique hair. He tosses his gray hair over his shoulder-- it’s just barely long enough for it, thank the forest, because it’s not going to be getting any longer any time soon. 

He takes in a deep breath, and he smells the salty sea about thirty feet underneath them where they’re docked, and fresh air and markedly less fresh airiners. Not the most comfortable place he’s ever worked, but he’s definitely worked in worse. It’s fine. He’s never been an airiner before. Novelty is good. 

He thinks, safe in the privacy of his own head, that maybe this won’t be a too bad few months, or however long he ends up staying here. He gives it six months before he gets thrown overboard by the crew themselves, over something entirely trivial. 

He wonders if Gable will try and catch him, or do the throwing themself. 

Soon, ropes are untied-- or cut? He should probably figure at least that out. Or just let other people handle it. Yes, that sounds better. He walks around in a way that he knows makes him look like he’s heading somewhere to do a specific, productive thing, so he shouldn’t be interrupted for some other petty little task, and enjoys his little private game. He keeps catching glances of white out of the corner of his eye, clearly looking at him, just as clearly trying to look like they’re _not_ looking at him. He keeps acting like he’s actually fooled. He’s much better at pretending not to look than Gable ever has been. Oh, they must be _stewing_ by now… He starts making bets with himself over when their patience is finally going to snap and they’ll walk up to Travis to _shake_ him. He bets soon. 

Soon, they can’t see land any longer. The breeze is bright and refreshing and favorable, apparently. 

That’s around the time when the shouting starts. 

Dref’s sweating. A lot. He keeps tasting bile in the back of his throat, slowly threatening him with the possibility of being sick. 

He’s surrounded by skyjacks and criminals. Pirates. _He’s_ a pirate now. 

He keeps his arms tightly clenched around his thick notebook, pressed close to his chest. It’s not that he thinks that someone’s going to try and steal his journal-- skyjacks aren’t exactly known for their fascination with medical theory. He just needs something to _hold._ And he really, really doesn’t want to brush up against someone, and have them take it the wrong way. God, he hasn’t been this nervous since his first day of school. He’d been as scared of being murdered by his peers for the slightest mistake then as well. Which was-- silly, in hindsight. But it’s not like that this time! _Pirates._

People start jostling and rushing around, and he catches on that they’re undocking now. 

_Last chance to change your mind,_ he thinks. He could still turn back. Sneak off board, tell everyone that he’d been kidnapped by the dastardly Orimar Vale but managed to escape while he had his back turned. No one would suspect anything. Alistair Youngblood, run away with filthy, dangerous pirates? His siblings would laugh themselves sick. 

The ship starts to rise, and the ropes are coiled up. He watches the shore shrink as they let the breeze push them away, heart in his throat. There’s dread and fear in him, yes. But the sheer relief of leaving all of that behind-- his family, his life, even his name-- makes it all worth it. As terrifying as that is. 

Nothing is going to hold him back now. Skyjacks don’t have laws. If he wants to carry on his master’s research, who is to stop him? No one. 

He smiles to himself. 

“Creepy,” someone mutters, and he coughs, clears his throat, and tries to clear the expression of his face, self conscious. He’s just beginning to compose himself, just beginning to convince himself that he isn’t going to be thrown overboard by the first skyjack who doesn’t like the look of him-- when there’s shouting. He jumps, yelps, looks wildly around. 

There’s a disinterested looking woman holding a young boy up by his ankle in the air, his long afro just barely grazing the floor. 

“Stowaway!” she announces matter of factly. 

“Um!” said stowaway says. “I can explain!” 

“Save it for the captain,” she says. 

And there Orimar is, lured over by the commotion. The man’s a mountain, but that’s not why the crowd parts for him like the sea. He looks down at the boy consideringly. 

“How old are you?” he says. His voice is a deep baritone, smooth and commanding the undivided attention of every person within earshot. He doesn’t need to raise it. 

“Fourteen,” the boy says, his voice cracking on the single word. 

“Too old for the orphan program, then.” 

“The what?” 

_The what?_

“And too young for a regular crewman. Yeah, you’re being dropped off at the next port we dock at.” 

“No, wait! I can-- I can make myself useful, I swear.” 

“I’ve got more than enough useful hands as it is. You should’ve thought twice before you decided to stowaway on a notorious pirate’s ship, boy.” 

“The name’s Jonnit. Jonnit Kessler! I’m going to be--” 

“Lucky to not be thrown overboard, I know. Feel free to thank me for my generosity. You can let him down now, Kat.” 

The woman drops him unceremoniously into a heap on the floor. Orimar turns around to leave, his coat flaring in a way that seems almost calculated to punctuate the end of the conversation. The boy springs right back to his feet, like one of those clowns in the carnival games. He dogs after the captain’s heels shamelessly.

“Come on,” he wheedles, pressing his luck. “Let me prove myself. You won’t regret it!”

“Next port, kid.” A door is slammed in the boy’s face. 

“Oh, that’s just mean,” someone says disapprovingly next to him, and Dref tries not to scream when he sees that it’s a seven foot tall white haired _giant._

Gable has seen plenty of corpses in their time. They’ve _made_ plenty of corpses in their time. Still, this is… grisly. They reach out and cover up the young boy’s eyes with their hand. Jonnit. 

“I don’t see you trying to protect _my_ innocence,” Travis says, inappropriately blithe as always. Gable glares at him. 

Jonnit tries to knock Gable’s hand away. “I’ve already seen it!” he says, half indignant, half nauseous. 

At their feet lies Orimar Vale. Or what used to be Orimar Vale. Several feet lies what’s left of Orimar Vale’s inner circle. All highly qualified and experienced warriors in their own rights. 

They’re more fitting to be minced meat, now. 

Gable reluctantly takes their hand away. Jonnit’s eyes immediately snap back towards Orimar, and then his gaze hurriedly snaps away. The plan had been to leave the boy behind at next port, they remember. But then they’d passed over an unmapped island on the way, and Orimar had been all too excited to explore a new place. His friends had all wanted to come along, Gable and Travis had been picked to watch over the lifeboat they’d used to go from the Uhuru to the island while the captain and his inner circle went inside and explored the jungle, and Jonnit had stowed away in the lifeboat to ‘get a chance to prove himself to the captain’, _of course._

And the doctor had been brought along in case any injuries took place. Somehow, Gable thinks that this might be a bit beyond him. 

Off in the distance, Gable hears said doctor puke his guts out in the bushes. 

“So, how well do you think the rest of the crew is going to take us letting the captain and his buddies die?” Travis asks, almost casually curious. 

“What-- they can’t blame _us_ for this,” they squawk. 

“Well _someone_ has to be blamed,” he says oh so reasonably, “and all of us are the new kids, right? Easy enough to get rid of us, it’s not like anyone’s going to mourn us.” 

Jonnit blanches. “Hang on, wait, wait, wait. Wait! The _island_ did this-- or whatever’s _on_ the island.” 

“Doubt that argument’s really going to go over well with everyone else. Alright, let’s just get this over with. I vote for the creepy doctor.” 

“What are you talking about?” Gable asks him impatiently. 

“Well, there’s no reason _all_ of us should die, so let’s just handle this like adults and vote for who gets to be the scapegoat.” 

Gable makes a deeply offended noise. 

Jonnit points at Travis. “I vote for that guy.” 

“I second that vote,” they say. They turn to Jonnit. “You know, I think I like you.” 

“Now, hang on a moment,” Travis says. Gable gives them a nasty smile. 

“There is a third choice,” the doctor says, and Gable just barely doesn’t flinch for their sword. Sovereign, that man walks lightly. 

“Everyone knows that voting for a third choice candidate is just throwing away your vote. Choose me or you, doc.” 

“N-- no, I-- I-- I mmmm-- mean.” He stops to clear his throat, takes a deep breath. “Th-- there’s no reason that… people need to _know_ that Orimar’s d-- dead.” 

“... Go on,” Travis says, sounding reluctantly intrigued. 

Dref goes on. 

“... Man, you _are_ creepy,” Jonnit says when he’s eventually finished his long macabre explanation of his idea to _cannibalize_ the parts from the dead inner circle to make an _Orimar corpse puppet--_

This is when Travis and Jonnit both have to lunge in Gable’s way to stop them from striking down Dref Wormwood as a sinner. Dref, for his part, screams and faints. 

It’s the start of a beautiful friendship.


End file.
